Work Text:
By the time Edward is able to get comfortable without the presence of Bella, or the clamoring unpredictability of Jacob living in the same space as him, the doorknob jiggles and Jacob enters the dorm, a stumbling drunk Bella in tow.
Bella’s eyes light up at the sight of Edward sitting on the couch, as throws herself onto him, landing awkwardly sideways. He’s never seen her like this, so out of her element. Drunk Bella is even more clumsier, but she’s also softer: in the way she strokes Edward’s cheek like a baby pawing at its mother, how she whispers his name like an oath, too drunk to consider the insecurities that gnaw at her from the inside. Edward comes to think of the word before it slips his mind: free. The thought of disallowing her this experience if he turned her right after graduation haunts him, prickling up the last sensation in his body he has left. How awful, how selfish of him to deprive her of this careless feeling.
The despair only lasts a few minutes, though. By the time Edward can ask Bella about her night, she’s leaning to the side of the couch to throw up in the trash can. Alice! his mind shrieks. She had told him to put a trash can by the couch after seeing a vision, but wouldn’t tell him the real reason why; she poorly disguised it as an in-style interior design fashion, her mind still as stone as Edward tried to read it.
Edward twitches in surprise. “Bella. Bella, are you okay?”
“Drunk,” is all she says, handing Edward a pamphlet from behind her back. Quite the multitasker, he must say.
“What is this?” Edward asks, flipping through the pages. The Statistics of College Violence on Campus—something Edward never thought to worry about until Bella decided to attend college. Being so fragile, so vulnerable to the predators around her, how could he let her? Alice’s visions of the future are only half of what Bella could encounter on campus: creeps, perverts, monsters, murderers. And yet she’s dating the biggest threat of them all.
With the bit of breath and composure she regained after emptying her stomach, Bella elects to lecture Edward. How stubborn, how Bella of her, Edward thinks.
“Did you know that college women are less susceptible to violence than non-college women? And that most college violence happens off campus? Do you know where we just were? On-campus. And guess what, Edward? I’m in college. Confirm it, Jake!”
Jacob gives her a nod and a thumbs-up, walking into the living room space. This has clearly been rehearsed in the car ride here. “Yep, it’s true. I confirmed it about five times in the car.”
A flame of rage lights inside of Edward as he comes to his senses. Jacob—someone Bella said he could, should, trust—letting Bella get like this. Joking about it. Treating it like a game. And worst of all, Edward let it happen.
“Statistically, I don’t care, Bella. You’re a magnet for trouble,” Edward says, rather calmly.
Ever since the Cullens returned to Forks, he’s tried to work on his temper; if can’t control having Jacob preening around Bella, his chiseled torso constantly out around the dorm—even when Edward purposefully adjusts the thermostat to its coldest setting—he can at least try to control his anger. Or, at least how he filters it from his mind to how he said it out loud. It would be unjust to not allow himself to insult Jacob in his head, reminding Edward he still has a small fraction of his wild, soulless self left: not for himself, but for Bella.
What Bella could never understand, though, was how much of an anomaly she truly is; the outlier of the data, the lone wolf in the pack. While that is one of the things he appreciates most about her—their shared tendency to become loners in a known world of categories and cliques—it is also the part that makes her prone to danger. Maybe if she were more popular, less appealing, had even a mild sense of survival, things would be much different than they are now, but the past will always be present. And that, Edward reasons, will forever be more important to him than their social identity of outcasts.
“And you,” Edward scoffs, lifting his hand to twist around Jacob’s neck before deciding on retreating, that voice—He’s not the enemy, Edward—beating like a drum inside him. If he concentrates hard enough on this voice, its rhythmic qualities, how it switches in chaos and calm, it sounds like Carlisle. Give her this. “Parading her around like some kind of puppy, an accessory. Bringing her home in this inebriated state, whatever you gave her.”
Jacob rolls his eyes, sneering. “I didn’t give her anything. She was safe with me.”
“Safe? This—” Edward points to a curled-up Bella on the couch, heaving into the trash can on the side of the armrest “—you call safe?”
Jacob looks over at Bella, sighing. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes dull and pleading into Jacob’s as she looks up at him. Edward closes Jacob’s thoughts off until his eyes snap back to him, jaw tense. “Weren’t you the one who wanted this for her?”
“Yes, but with caveats, of course,” Edward says. “Do you really think I want this for her, for her to feel like this and for me to not be there to save her from it? Do you not know how frustrating, how unnerving that is for me?”
“Dude, she doesn’t have polio.” God, he is so 19th-century. Has he had any fun in his life? “She just had a little too much to drink. It’s what happens in college, it’s how they have fun here. If she wants to get drunk, I’m letting her get drunk. Plus, it’s kinda hard to say no to her.”
Edward quietly laughs to himself; now that is something he can agree with. As he spent more time around her, he found Bella’s stubborn nature to be less of a deterrent to him and more of a natural charm, a push-and-pull: a way to dazzle him, per se. It arises in small disagreements—hardcover or paperback, whether Colin Firth makes a good Darcy or not, the changing shapes in the clouds—and much larger ones, too. Ones that put Bella in a situation Edward would never put herself in if he had the choice. Such a fickle thing, autonomy is. First she’s off to college, then she’s begging to be turned. If Edward is the ball of flame and fire, Bella is the water that will always put him out.
“That feeling—it’s very hard to ignore,” Edward admits. Sometimes, usually when she’s sleeping and he’s left with himself, he wonders if Bella knows the extent of his love for her. The magnitude of these feelings makes Edward question how they all fit inside his hollow body, his soulless mind. “The difference between want and need.”
From the couch, Bella rises to sit up. Even with such slow movement, her back makes a hard sound against the back of the couch, a slapping sound that sounds deafening in Edward’s head; her head nearly misses the wall behind it. In less than a second Edward’s next to her side, placing his hand on the back of her head, down to the small of her back.
“Be careful, Bella,” he says.
A small blush forms on her cheeks, making Edward grin. Even in the horrific element she’s in, her body still supplies its affection to him. He’s not heartless; of course he finds the reflexive gestures sweet. Besides her clumsiness, she embodies every human trait he wishes he could possess again. Such a humanless void he is.
“Edward, I’m okay,” Bella says, sighing. “But you seem off—I mean your gifts, if that’s what you call them. Like all of your senses are heightened. I thought I noticed something different this morning, and it’s happening again.”
Edward didn’t realize until now, but it would explain his earlier reaction. It seems like since the move-in, Edward has been on higher alert than usual; watching her like a hawk, feeling her pain through the noises she makes. Like he’s put on glasses after not being able to see, and everything is more vivid and clearer than he could have imagined. But James is dead and Victoria would never hunt on such populated ground. Only one threat remains.
Bella glances up at Edward, reading the expression on his face as if she can read his mind so perfectly. They tilt their heads to Jacob, crossing his arms as he sits down next to Edward on the couch, shuddering at the thought of doing such things.
Hurt her? Does this leech really think that?
“I’m not going to hurt her,” Jacob says, firm.
“Your wolf temper is unpredictable, Jacob,” Edward says, trying to keep his composure; his body tenses underneath him.
Jacob scoffs. “Is that the latest Cullen propaganda piece you’re selling now?”
“It’s simple history. You’re too young, too feral to control yourself around her. It’s a wolf thing—you can’t control who you become. But at least acknowledge the truth, Jacob.”
Jacob’s mind comes in flashes. He concentrates on a page in a Quileute Tribe historical textbook that they teach at the reservation, one that was published after the treaty they made with the Cullens. Edward recognizes the red leather cover and he follows Jacob as each page pops up. Finally, he settles on page 15; a vocabulary list. Jacob stops at the origin and definition of the word ‘colonizer’ and smiles as he reads the sample sentence in his head: When the vampires arrived on our land, they were seen as colonizers, as they took our land and made it politically their own without any regard for our people.
Bella looks back and forth, eyes flickering between the two of them. “I know what you’re doing. Stop communicating with telepathy.”
Jacob gleams. “Jealous?”
“Annoyed, actually.”
Edward runs a comforting hand over Bella’s shoulder. “His mind isn’t very exciting, anyway.”
Oh, you’re a leech! You and your pale faces just love to get above us.
Edward smirks to himself. Jacob has never been subtle in his disgust for Edward’s family. “It seems like we’ve been taught two very different histories.
Jacob bursts from his spot on the couch, hovering his body over Edward’s, teeth sharp and showing. Edward flicks his hand out of Jacob’s tight grip.
“Can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours, Cullen? Or are you too busy in everyone else’s head but your own? I won’t hurt Bella. Doesn’t matter if I’m a wolf, or a human, or a bloodsucker like you. I would never hurt her. For you, though, you already did. ”
Edward rises and clashes his body against Jacob’s, a smashing of ice against fire. He sees himself in the dark reflection of Jacob’s irises, the slant of pure, identified rage peering back at him: monster, freak, killer. He wishes it wasn’t like this, but the history is factual and his origins are forever rooted inside him. It wouldn’t be bad at the end of things, only at first. There would be a mess of blood and teeth, a blanket of a body on their dorm floor he’d have to drag out to the garbage, the odor clinging to his body as a reminder, and—Bella. Would she ever forgive him for such an act? Maybe it would make her choose her mind about her immortal fate; living with such tragedy forever would haunt anyone; he’s seen the same unfiltered feeling of rage and sadness, contempt and acknowledgment, from Rosalie. At least she has Emmett. Bella would have Edward, at least—if she even wanted him still. And Jacob, he would obviously play the long game and make it harder on himself in the end. If Edward was feeling particularly nice, he’d speed up the process for Jacob’s sake, take his body into his cold hands and watch as the life depletes out one by—
Bella’s voice cuts through him. “I didn’t realize how hard it would be to have both of you here.”
Edward shakes himself out of his thoughts. I thought you were over this, the voice inside him muses. Once a predator, always a predator, it seems? Not a question—a statement—Edward can only agree to.
“I guess I should have known. Wolf and vampire, Jacob and Edward... It's a bad mix. I just wish I could have both of you here.”
Edward stares into the open space in front of him and feels the pain release from his body. The look on Bella’s face, a begging downward frown on her lips and a small crease between her eyebrows. The way her delicate hands fall on her lap so humanly it hurts the last pieces of his true heart he has left. The hopeful future she once planned with the both of them, now ruined by the awful realization of the present. Must she be with him? It would save her so much trouble, so much anguish. If only she truly realized the life she left behind and its glimmering hope.
Bella looks at him softly, taking hold of his hands and bringing them up to her flushed chest, the cold of his fingers an odd, comforting relief.
He can feel how hot she still is, wondering if he should run a cold shower or coldly dampen a washcloth for her. In such human moments like these, he wishes Jacob could read his mind, too. He could save himself much embarrassment and instead keep his prying questions to himself in the comfort of his own mind while still being supplied the rightful answers. But Edward wonders if Jacob would remain honest and truthful with such a power.
“Jacob won’t hurt me,” Bella promises. “You need to trust him, and you need to trust me with him.”
The hotness of her body starts to bother Edward too much, squirming with discomfort on the couch cushion. “Could you get her a cold washcloth, please? She’s still very hot from getting sick.”
“Aren’t you cold enough?” Jacob says.
Based on his thoughts, it seems more like an actual question than a sarcastic remark, relieving Edward of his banter. He can only keep up with Jacob’s constant back-and-forth for so long. It’s like he has the next answer to one of Edward’s questions in his head before Edward can even ask it himself.
Edward cringes internally at himself, at how faulty his care is for Bella. Jacob could give her more, the voice chimes in. He snaps his eyes shut at the image of Bella willingly choosing Jacob over him. Maybe she wants that? No! No? No.
If Edward had the capability to throw up, he imagines his weak stomach would give out on their carpet right now. “I’d like something more… helpful if that’s okay.”
“You are helpful, Edward,” Bella says. Always reassuring him.
He weakly smiles at her. “Not nearly enough.”
Before Edward can protest, or Jacob rises to his feet, Bella says, “I’ll get it,” and trots off quickly to the bathroom, opening the drawers and running the faucet as if she’s worried about the consequences of Edward and Jacob spending time alone together, even just for a second.
Bella comes back with a damp washcloth, bits of water that weren’t rung out dripping down the side of her face. She does a little leap over the floor onto the carpet that Edward would find endearing at any time other than this one.
“It seems like friendship is too much to ask.” Jacob’s groan and Edward’s sneer in response only confirm it for Bella. “Right,” she sighs. “Tolerance, then?”
She turns to face Jacob, who offers a smile in return. “Sure, Bells.”
“Edward?”
“If only he makes it easier to tolerate him, then yes.” Bella glares at him. “Yes, okay. We’ll make this work.”
“And you need to let me have fun once in a while. No vampire intervention. And no Alice-and-her-premonitions intervention, please.”
“I will relay that information to her, Chief Swan.”
“Stop that.” Bella swats at Edward’s shoulder. “And Jacob, one insult per day.”
Edward’s mouth goes wide, offended. “Oh, so he gets an insult?”
“Does that count mentally, too?” Jacob asks, truly pondering the implications of just how many insults he could get in with such a perk. Edward listens to his head racing with joy: Ha! Prick. Fucking bloodsucker. Fuck off and die. Asshole.
Bella thinks, saying, “It does the same damage, so yes.”
“Damage to what, his ego? His empty soul?”
Edward grins. “I think that counts as two, Jacob. Right, Bella? You’re over your limit.”
Bella puts her two hands out in front of their faces, exclaiming, “Enough! No more talking.”
“But—”
“He’s so—”
“Nope. I don’t want to hear it. Also, I’m going to–”
The rest of Bella’s sentence ends up in the trash can, a mix of too much tequila and the couple of shots of vodka she regrets now spilling out of her. Edward gathers her hair away from her face, pressing the washcloth onto her forehead when she comes up to take a breath. Her eyes watery, her speech incoherent before she throws up again.
Jacob comes back from the kitchen with a mug of water and a worried look on his face.
“Is she okay?” he asks, tentatively, an obvious nerving edge to his voice that is so not like the confident Jacob Edward is used to. He looks smaller against the backdrop of the even smaller kitchen, the dim overhead light enunciating his hair. Edward always quietly admired Jacob’s long hair; it’s foreign to him why the pack would cut off its best feature.
“She will be. Right?” Edward confirms. He isn’t exactly knowledgeable on hangovers; maybe it’s an expertise of Carlilse’s he needs to pick from his brain for the future. That is if he so lets Bella near alcohol again after seeing what it’s doing to her now.
Jacob nods. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. Sleep it off and replenish with plenty of greasy food tomorrow.”
“God, I don’t understand half the food you eat.”
“Well, get used to it, Cullen.”
After a couple of moments, Bella’s body seems to give out. She slumps against the armrest of the couch and shuts her eyes, giving in to sleep.
Jacob and Edward sit awkwardly on the couch together, the silence nearly unbearable. Bella mumbles in her sleep next to them.
“So… the weather, right? It’s crazy out there,” Jacob tries, elbowing Edward playfully.
“We don’t have to do small talk, Jacob.”
“Good. I mean, I wasn’t trying to anyway.”
“Right. Same.”
Jacob looks down at his bare feet on the carpet. “Coooool.”